


The House That Jack Built

by FridgeWitch



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Mind Break, Mind Control, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FridgeWitch/pseuds/FridgeWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's not feeling quite himself today. Don't worry, though- he's in good hands. After all, Pitch would never steer him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> If torture and mind break be not your thing, then I'd suggest skipping this one. If so, then read on, good fellows.

The House That Jack Built

Chapter One: New Tricks

Sunlight. Snow. The laughter of children. These were the things that made up the world, and he couldn’t be happier for it. He takes them all in as he watches them play; every spark of joy and surprise that flickers in their eyes, every little wrinkle in their rosy cheeks when they smile. He’s running with them, through the snow banks, between the trees, across the canvas of this whitewashed world. 

And he’s so very happy. This is what he lives for, the thing that lifts his soul from every dark and heavy memory, that fills his heart with a glow the likes of which not even the sun itself could match. The thing that lives in the very core of him.

He pulls ahead of them, gliding across the ground as swiftly as water through a stream. A chase is in order! Further and further he runs, calling out to the tiny figures falling behind. Catch me if you can, he cries, and quickens his pace. Their footfalls grow fainter and fainter the farther he goes, and before long they fade away all together. He stops. Surely he hadn’t gone that far? He turns back, eyes searching the pale landscape for them.

There they are, just past the tree line, standing silently together. There’s no laughter among them, no joyful twitter. He makes his way back to them, face filled with concern. What’s wrong? he asks, bending down meet their eyes. 

But they don’t look at him; they just shiver and hold their arms and sniffle, turning to each other with sunken eyes and chapped lips. And they begin to walk away.

He’s dumbfounded. They’re leaving? Without a word? He follows behind, reaching out a hand as white as snow to stop them. Wait. He calls again. Wait! He reaches for a little shoulder, desperate for an answer of any kind- and gapes in horror as his hand passes right through. He pulls it to his face and stares with eyes as wide as dinner plates. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again, not after all he’s been through! He reaches for another, and again he passes through them, as though he were a ghost. He watches with glistening eyes as they slowly shuffle away, fading into the pale oblivion of white that surrounds him. And then he’s all alone. Just like before. Like he’ll always be. 

Jack woke with a start; his breath was rapid, his heart was racing, hammering furiously against his ribcage. His eyes darted wildly as he collected his thoughts. Just a dream, he realized, swallowing hard. That’s all. He heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back, resting his head against the bark of his lofty bed. He dangled his feet over the sides of the branch and stared up at the rose tinted sky above. What a night; seventy-three snowstorms in less than eight hours, all across the northern hemisphere, being careful to avoid the major airports as best he could. All in the name of the Christmas spirit. How exactly North had convinced him to be the unofficial “Christmas snow” harbinger he couldn’t even recall- probably used the old “think of the children” maneuver. And how could Jack say no to the children?

After ensuring that nearly every child north of the equator would awaken to the whitest of white Christmases the next morning, he’d made his way home on an icy current across the Pacific, fully collapsing from exhaustion in the branches of the highest tree he could find beside his lake. He wasn’t planning on being disturbed for a long while after a night like that. But the dream he’d just had reminded him that some things would always find a way to disturb you, no matter where you hid. He scratched his head and yawned. Man, Sandy must have been off his game or something, giving him a dream like that. It was more like a nightmare.

Jack stood, stretching out his arms as high as they’d go above his head. Well, he was up now- might as well take a peek at some of the Christmas cheer he’d been bullied into spreading. He stepped casually off of the branch and plummeted a few short feet before soaring back up again, high above the tree tops. He looked out over the sleepy little town of Burgess, his once and future home, scouring the streets for any signs of activity. But it was still too early; the roads were barren, populated only by the blankets of snow he’d summoned last night. If he wanted to see anything, he was going to have to get closer.

He flew out into the middle of town, sneaking a peek in every bedroom window he passed along the way. There they were, little rumpled bedheads sticking out from beneath their blankets. Still asleep.

Not for long, though… 

He stopped in front of one window and tapped on the glass. There was a little rustle as the girl inside stirred, pushing her covers up over her head. “Hey,” Jack called to her, “sleepy head! C’mon, up and at ‘em!”

With a violent jerk she sat upright, whipping her head left and right in search of her wake-up call’s origin. Finally she caught sight of Jack in the window; a toothy smile crept its way across her freckled face as she leapt out of bed and sprinted to the sill. Jack gave a little wave as she threw the window open. “Is it a snow day?” she asked hopefully, propping herself up against the window frame. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you’d be in school today anyway, kiddo,” he said slyly. When she offered him nothing but a cocked head and a wrinkled brow in response, he added “Didja forget what today is?” She blinked twice, pursing her lips together. Then her eyes went wide; she gave a little gasp and darted out into the hallway, leaving Jack snickering outside her window. “Oh, they’re so cute at that age,” he giggled, pushing it closed with a blast of chilly air. He pulled around to the next house, jangling the icicles hanging off of the awnings; the house after that, he etched a festive “Merry Christmas” onto every frosted window. Before long the once sleepy town was alive and breathing: there were breakfasts to be made, bathrooms to be visited, and, most importantly of all, presents to be opened.

Jack saved his favorite stop for last. He dropped down into the Bennett’s yard, kicking up a tiny whirlwind of flurries as he landed. He tiptoed cautiously up to the house, craning his neck to steal a glance through the window. Mom and Dad stood over the sink, having some kind of discussion or another- Jack couldn’t really hear them over Sophie’s cries of “Can we open presents yet? You said after breakfast we could open presents; it’s after breakfast so can we open them now?” Jack smirked. No matter the time or the place, the thought to himself, kids were kids; there was no denying them their presents.

And there was Jamie, darting around the kitchen table, collecting everybody’s dishes and carrying them over to the sink. He looked every bit as eager as Sophie to get to his gifts, but of course as the oldest, he had his responsibilities. Jack had to catch him before they started opening presents, or he might not get the chance to see him again today. He rapped his knuckles twice against the glass and ducked beneath the ledge. Jamie lifted his head; there on the window, barely visible on its foggy surface, was a tiny, intricately frosted arrow, pointing to the kitchen door. His heart leapt.

“Hey, Mom,” he offered, “I’ll take out the trash for you.” His mother turned away from the sink, staring at him incredulously. 

“You want to take the trash out? First thing in the morning?”

“Yeah,” he piped. “I mean…” He snuck a peek over at the window. “Anything to help out, right?” 

His parents stared at one another for a long moment. “I guess,” his father replied, “but you know, we’re going to have a lot more of it later today.”

“All the more reason to take this load out now.” He yanked the bag from the can and flung it over his shoulder. “That way we’ve got more room.”

His parents were still exchanging curious looks as he closed the door behind him. Jamie shifted the bag to his other shoulder and stepped out into the yard. “Jack,” he whispered, “where are you?” He took another step- and found his foot slipping out from underneath him, propelled forward by a sheet of ice that he was certain hadn’t been there before. Without meaning to, he flung the trash bag into the air, pinwheeling his arms madly in an attempt to keep upright. He heard it crash to the ground just a second before he thought that he, too, would come crashing down, splayed out flat on his back in a powdery snowdrift. But just before he hit the snow, a pair of chilly hands wedged themselves beneath his arms, hoisting him to his feet. Jamie shot a look over his shoulder.

“Does that ever get old?” he asked, dusting off his jacket. 

Jack gave a snort. “Not yet, at least.” 

“Jamie?”

The pair whirled around to face the now open window, where Jamie’s mother stuck out her head, eyes wide with panic. “What happened?” she called to her son, oblivious to Jack’s presence. A nervous laugh escaped Jamie’s throat. 

“Just a little icy, Mom!” he answered, reaching down for the trash bag once more. “I slipped. No big deal.” His mother sighed with relief and shut the window, continuing her conversation with his father. Jamie tossed the bag over his shoulder again and gestured towards the aluminum cans resting on the far side of his house. “Wanna take this somewhere where I won’t look like a crazy person talking to thin air?” 

They made their way over to the trash cans, Jack pushing the snow aside with a wave of his staff to form a path for his young friend. Well, not so young anymore. As Jamie began the laborious process of stuffing the trash bag among its brethren, Jack took the time to give him a quick once over. The boy’s once baby-like brown eyes had shrunk, it seemed, pushed upwards and tapered in by the sudden onset of his cheekbones. His limbs, always gangly and a little too long for their own good, had grown even longer; there was at least a good half an inch of his wrist poking out past his jacket cuff. Jack smiled to himself and leaned against his staff. Five years was a long time, in its own way- his little believer was growing up.

“Look at you,” he marveled, gesturing up and down Jamie’s skinny frame. “You’re getting taller every day. You’re a weed, buddy.”

Jamie gave an unintelligible grunt as he dropped an elbow down on the mass of trash bags, packing them down just far enough to make a shallow nest for the most recent bag. He tossed the latest bag in and turned to Jack. “I think I’ll be taller than you soon,” he said with a smile, trying in vain to wedge the lid back onto the can. He eventually gave up and allowed it to rest lopsidedly on the top of the mound.

Again Jack snorted. “Um, excuse me?” He cocked his head and adjusted his grip on his staff. 

“Well…” With one long stride, Jamie sidled up alongside Jack, placing one hand proudly on his hip; the other he laid flat against the top of his shaggy brunette locks. He slid his hand along in a straight line until it rested against Jack’s neck. “And I’ve still got more growing to do.” Another cheeky smile.

Jack’s eyelids fluttered; he stuck his bottom lip out. “Is that so?” He took a step back, planting his staff firmly in the snow. He bent his legs and pushed off against the ground, pulling himself up onto the crooked bend atop his staff. He wiggled his toes as he gained his purchase, glancing down at his first believer. “There we go,” he announced, spreading out his arms. “That’s more like it.” He turned his head, placing a hand as if to shield his eyes from the sun. “Hey, I can see your house from here.” Jamie let loose a peal of laughter.

“Jamie!” From around the other side of the house, they heard his mother calling. “How long does it take to throw out the trash?”

The boy looked up at his frosty friend, making a face halfway between a grimace and a grin. “Gotta go,” he whispered, shuffling down the path. Just before he rounded the corner he turned back to Jack, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “See you later,” he called with a wave, more of a statement than a question. Jack smiled and waved back from his perch. 

“Tell Sophie ‘hi’ for me.”

And with that, Jamie was gone, out of sight around the corner, back to his Christmas and his family. Jack sighed. He had some time to himself, for a little while, at least; all of the children would be in their homes for some time to come, unwrapping their presents and basking in the glory and wonder that was promised them this time of year. But he knew for a fact that at least five of the children in town were getting new sleds this year- one of the perks of having an in with ol’ Saint Nick himself. So Jack was contented to wait. Eventually they’d start itching for their freedom, for the feel of the snow crunching beneath their boots and the bite of an icy wind on their noses. Oh, yes, and when the time for that came, Jack would be more than happy to oblige. 

In the meantime, however, he thought it might be nice to take a short rest by the lake; even he deserved a lazy day every now and then.

He touched down gently on the bank of his lake, casting a glance up at the now overcast sky. More snow later on today? he asked himself. Yeah, that sounded reasonable; there might be a great deal of it, too, judging by the thickness of the cloud cover. Actually, he thought, we might be in for a blizzard- look at how dark those clouds are. That was fine by him, though- a little blizzard once everybody was safely tucked away at home for the night? Just one more thing to round off that perfect Christmas day, snuggling up close to a loved one and watching the snow fall outside your window. Maybe he’d drop in on North while that was going on and steal a mug of cocoa or two; North always had a story to share, especially after his annual sleigh ride.

Jack stuck a toe out onto the ice. Better to make sure it was fully frozen, he decided, running the tip of his staff along the surface. He watched as the tendrils of frost snaked their way across the ice, curling in on themselves, forming a web of beautiful and impossibly intricate designs. 

Before he knew it he was out on the ice, swinging his staff to and fro, sending shots of frost rocketing out across the frozen water. He skated like the finest champion from one end to the other in a wild and frenzied dance. The forest blurred around him as he span; nothing was real at that moment but him and the lake, and the limitless joy that consumed him like a flame. He was home. He was home, and he was free. What more could a winter spirit ask for?

Had he not been so enthralled, so drunk on the very thought of life itself, he might have noticed the serpentine slink of a shadow in a darkened corner.

“Hello, Jack.”

Jack caught himself in mid-skate; he pushed his leg out, using the momentum from his intended glide to spin himself in the direction of the sinister voice. His fists clenched tightly around his staff; he raised his chin in defiance.

“Been a while, Pitch,” he answered. He leveled his weapon at the shadow fiend’s chest. “Though to be honest, we weren’t expecting to hear from you for a few more decades.”

Pitched strode out from between the trees, hands at his sides, palms open in a mock gesture of appeasement. “It never hurts to be a bit ahead of schedule,” he purred, inching ever closed to the edge of the lake. 

Jack tightened his grip. He and the other Guardians had been expecting Pitch’s return eventually; fear could never truly be destroyed- it lived so long as there were things in this world that stirred it, things that urged parents to bolt their doors and close their shutters, things that left children sobbing into their pillowcases at night. But he thought they’d have more time than this. He steadied himself; he’d grown stronger since taking his Guardians oath, he knew. And Pitch had been out for the count for over five years- he was bound to be weaker than when they last met. 

“Besides,” Pitch continued, “I just couldn’t keep away. Even down in my lair I could feel the radiant glow of the dreams of happy children, and the sweet warmth of hope and joy spreading about the globe like it did in days of old.” His lip curled. “You can’t imagine how ill it made me.”

A little smirk pushed at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “How were things down there, by the way?” Tempting the sovereign of darkness might not have been the wisest idea, but Jack was feeling brave today.

Pitch didn’t miss a beat. “Oh,” he retorted, “not much to tell, really. The first few years were a blur of unspeakable horrors and twisted memories; never ending plummets into a merciless abyss, hollow faces staring with empty eyes- the usual.” He slunk onto the ice, keeping his limbs in close, his spine erect; he was every inch a dignified gentleman. “But there are only so many horrors that I have not already seen, so after a time the nightmares withdrew, and they once again realized who their master was.” He stopped a yard or so in front of Jack. “And after a thing like that, what’s a man to do?”

Jack kept his gaze on the shadow before him, martialing his strength, should the need for it arise. “Take up a hobby?” he replied sweetly. Pitch’s lips twitched, stretching his gruesome mouth into a terrifying smile.

“You know, Jack, that’s exactly what I’ve done.” He raised a hand, signaling to something behind the boy. The young Guardian whirled around just in time to fire an icy bolt into the chest of the oncoming nightmare, exploding the dark and twisted thing into a shower of glittering specks above his head. He turned to Pitch, blowing gently at a grain of sand as it drifted before his nose. He gestures around him and shrugged.

“Barely touched me,” he boasted, taking a step towards his nemisis.

Pitch didn’t seem disturbed by the destruction of his nightmare- quite the opposite, he looked positively thrilled; another horrid smile had crept its way across his face.

“Barely is all I need,” he said softly. He waved a hand at Jack and stepped back. “Tell me, Jack; are you familiar with a certain homily concerning old dogs?” 

The winter spirit let out a breathy laugh. “You should out them out to pasture?” he started to ask- when suddenly he was struck with a terrible stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes. “Ngh!” He pressed the heel of his hand sharply against his eye, in an attempt to stifle the pain. But it didn’t help; the pain just kept growing, spreading, ‘till it felt like his eyes were on fire. And it didn’t stop there. It swiftly worked its way up to his temples, back along towards his ears. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his scalp in vain.

“What did you- AUUUUGH!” Another wave of agony wracked his skull, sending him into convulsions on the hard and unforgiving surface of the frozen lake. As he shook and spasmed, Pitch loomed over him, smiling contentedly at his handywork. 

“This is more entertaining that I thought it would be,” he beamed, stepping around his fallen foe. “I could leave you like this, I think, if I wanted to.” He knelt down to Jack’s twisted and twitching form, pressing his face as close as he dared to the boy’s own. “Let you feel what I’ve felt over these past years for a few centuries or so,” he snarled, face contorted with rage and spite. But then his features softened; he glanced along the length of Jack’s agonized frame, seemingly coming to a conclusion of sorts.

“However,” he cooed, gently stroking the side of Jack’s face with the backs of his fingers. “I think you’ll find that I am far more merciful then either you or your fellow Guardians. For example…”

And just like that, the pain melted away; there was no longer the horrendous stinging gone. And in its place was… giddiness? Contentment? Delight? He struggled to understand this new development. Was he happy that the pain was gone? Certainly, but it was more than that; a feeling he never even imagined could overtake him, something so unprecedented and vile to him that the mere thought of it made him sick-

He was happy that Pitch was there. 

Here he was, sprawled out on the ice after this monster had tortured him, weak and brutalized- and helpless, he realized; in his convulsions he’d dropped his staff somewhere beside him- and he was happy for the wretched thing’s company. His eyes darted madly over the cold surface of Pitch’s pale face, taking in every wrinkle, every pore, willing himself to hate the fiend with every fiber of his being- and he couldn’t. 

“Now isn’t that better?” Pitch asked, brushing back a lock of Jack’s snowy hair from his face. Yes, though the boy serenely. It is so much better. The world went hazy as his eyes lost focus- he was drifting to sleep…

“NO!” he cried, regaining his senses. He scrambled away from the shadowy figure, reaching out, searching for his staff. He caught sight of it and lunged towards it, only to have Pitch swoop in from out of the corner of his eye and kick it away, sending it skittering across the ice to the other side of the lake. Jack crumpled back to the ground; the fight was fading from him fast.

“Oh, no,” Pitch reprimanded. “You don’t get that back until we’re all through here.” He knelt down once more and cupped Jack’s chin in his hand. “It’ll all be over soon, Jack. And then you and I are going to have the time of our lives, just the two of us.” He gave a little smile. “Now doesn’t that sound nice?”

“No,” Jack moaned, trying and failing to beat down the growing feelings of joy and elation rising up within him. Oh, the things he wanted to do- terrible, heartless, destructive things. He wanted to crush a living thing in his bare hand just to see it squirm- he wanted to raise a wind to cold and so fierce that it could steal the very breath from a person’s lungs. He wanted to blanket the world in a cozy layer of ice and keep it all to himself. Well, not just himself; no, he would share it with only one other. He shuddered as these thoughts crept their way into his mind, powerless to stop their advance. He made one last, fleeting attempt to hold onto his sanity.

Pitch smiled again; such a warm, comforting smile. “Jack,” he pleaded, “just give in.”

And so Jack did.

 

Pitch stood, taking a few steps back from the unconscious boy at his feet. He placed his hand to his chest in relief. His plan had worked. It had actually, truly and completely, worked. For a brief moment he was overcome- a tiny portion of him had expected the nightmare sand to be ineffective on the young Guardian. After all, who knows what new defenses they might have concocted since his imprisonment? He smiled to himself; but even the mightiest warrior had their limits- and the Guardians were no exception. For all their power, for all their bravado, their bodies were still as vulnerable as and human’s in their own way. They couldn’t protect every inch of themselves, no matter how hard they tried. All it took was a few grains of twisted dream sand; they’d wriggled into the corners of Jack’s eyes and made their way along his optic nerve until they reached his brain. Then, all it took was a little precise manipulation of the frost spirit’s gray matter until he got the results he wanted. 

“Hmn…” Jack stirred; his body shifted, his eyelashes fluttered. Pitch glanced over at the staff laying a dozen or so yards away. He summoned another nightmare to fetch it while he helped Jack to his feet. 

“How are you feeling, Jack?”

The boy steadied himself and turned to meet Pitch’s gaze. Pitch saw in those eyes a most terrible and marvelous thing indeed; Jack’s pupils had seemed to bleed out into the icy blue of his iris, writhing and contracting and expanding like a living thing. There lay in that inky mass the smallest sparkle betraying their sandy origins. 

Jack’s face twisted in a look of pretend distain; he held out his hand to receive his staff from the nightmare trotting up to him. As he took his totem back, he gave the steed’s ears a playful tussle. “Kinda bored, actually,” he replied, stuffing his free hand into his hoodie’s pocket.

Pitch smirked. “So what’s the plan, then?”

Jack pondered for a moment, gazing up at the dark and foreboding blanket of clouds above. The he turned to Pitch with a wicked grin.

“Let’s hit the town.”

The nightmare king laughed; it started off slowly, tiny hiccups of sound seeping through his jagged teeth, and then it grew, first to a chuckle, then a throaty wheeze, until it became a terrifying roar that shook the trees. Shoulders shaking, head tossed back, he laughed for minutes on end, until finally his breath was spent, and he leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, while the last spurts of laughter escaped his mouth.

“Now that,” he exclaimed, grinning up at Jack, “sounds like fun!”

 

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Chapter 2

In Jamie Bennett’s humble opinion, things were looking very grim indeed. 

At first nobody had minded the snow- well a few grown-ups grumbled a bit about various trifles like shoveling and anti-freeze, but for the children things couldn’t have been better. The storm had started late Christmas morning, depositing the latest payload of powdery goodness atop the drifts already blanketing the town; higher and higher the snowdrifts rose, towering like miniature mountain ranges above the fire hydrants and mailboxes. Surely, the children thought, this was a sign of marvelous things to come.

And then the temperature dropped; snowflakes turned to frozen raindrops turned to hailstones the size of peas. Any surface not suffocated by snow was imprisoned beneath a layer of ice so thick and heavy it twisted and warped and distorted everything it touched- tree limbs bowed in dangerous arches above the over-burdened rooftops; power lines sagged dramatically under the weight of their frozen coats; and gutters were wrenched from their posts by icy stalactites that looked more at home in the frozen wastes of the arctic than the suburbs. 

Worse than the either the snow or ice though was the wind. It screamed through the streets like a howling demon, louder and fiercer each day. It jangled the ice-encrusted trees with every gale, sending a terrifying symphony of winter bells echoing through the town. With frigid claws it tore at every scrap of flesh that dared bare itself from beneath a scarf or woolen cap. The smallest children had to take special care when they went out, for eventually the gusts grew so strong that they became capable of knocking them off of their feet, and in some cases, actually dragging them down the slickened sidewalks, some as far as ten feet. After a while, the children stopped going out; only those adults whose occupations demanded their presence for the greater good dared venture out into the streets- the nurses, the firemen, the officers of the law. There was one last flurry of chaos and activity before the self-imposed house arrest settled across Burgess, as the townsfolk fought their way through the heinous blizzard to strip the supermarkets bare of every canned good and roll of toilet paper they could scrounge up.

And then the town fell still. There was nothing to do but to keep warm, keep safe, and pray.

 

Oh, how Jamie prayed. He prayed as he watched the snowdrifts rise above the living room windowsill; he prayed when an icy gale tore his hat from his head and sent it rocketing into the air, to be carried off to heaven only knows where; he prayed when he felt the first sharp stings of a volley of hailstones gracing his uncovered brow; and he prayed hardest of all as he sat on his sofa, with his sister Sophie beside him, listening to his parents in the kitchen running through their emergency checklists.

“And we’re set on vegetables?” he heard his father ask solemnly.

There was a tutting sound from his mother. “I don’t want to see another can of peas as long as I live,” she groaned. “What about gas?”

“Tank’s full, and we’ve got three extra gallons in the basement, should we need ‘em. Let’s hope we don’t.”

“We should have gotten the generator when it was on sale.”

“We don’t need a generator, honey- it’s gonna lighten up soon.”

Another tutting noise. “They said that last week. And look.”

Jamie could almost see his mother’s blunt, sweeping gesture towards the kitchen window, towards the frosty terror that lurked outside. He craned his neck to face his own view of their prison from the living room window. Through the frost that coated the panes, through the sheets of icy bullets that pelted the glass, he gazed out at the inky sky, with a single question on his mind.

There was a hideous, screeching whistle as a particularly strong current of wind beat against the house. Sophie flinched; she tugged her brother’s sleeve and pressed her face against his shoulder.

He offered her a little smile. “We’ll be okay, Soph,” he assured her. “We’ve just gotta keep believing, all right?”

She blinked up at him through her bangs, nodding slowly. One little corner of her mouth twitched in a half-attempt at a grin.

“Let’s just hope,” they heard their father say, “that the power doesn’t-“

The lights went out.

Their mother sighed. “Jamie,” she called, “you’ve got your flashlight- find your way upstairs and pull the extra blankets out of the cupboard. You guys are bunking with us tonight.”

“’Kay, Mom,” he called back, feeling around for Sophie’s hand in the darkness. “C’mon,” he urged her as he stood, pulling her up off of the couch. He reached into his pocket and found the tiny flashlight that resided on his key-ring. There was a dainty click, and suddenly Sophie’s face was illuminated by a pale blue light from below. Jamie pulled his own face closer to the light and looked his sister in the eye.

“You stay with Mom and Dad, okay? I’ll be right back.” The shadows shifted upon her cheeks as her head bobbed in a nod. Jamie pointed the light towards the kitchen door and pulled her along behind him as he made his way to it. When she was safely stationed at their parents’ side, he started his trek up the staircase, with that same question that seemed to cross his mind more and more often these days again floating to the surface.

Jack, he pleaded, where are you?  
There was an awful smile stretching across Jack Frost’s face as he surveyed the desolate streets of Burgess. He watched with childish glee as every light in every home was snuffed out in its turn, basking in the woe and misery that permeated the air like the thickest fog. 

“Lights out, kids,” he snickered, and with a wave of his staff, sent another torrent of hail down to ravage the town. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm started wailing. A hiss of laughter shot out from between the boy’s teeth; his shoulders shook with mirth. From his perch atop the water tower, he had an almost perfect view of his masterpiece- a town entombed in frost. Snow and ice as far as the eye could see, choking the very life from the place. A pity, he thought, that he could never really finish the job, couldn’t creep his frosty tendrils into every nook and cranny there was to be filled. If he had, well… living things didn’t tend to do well in conditions of absolute zero. So, he gave them their little nests, their hidey-holes, their ports in the storm. Let them think that there was always hope, always a way to hold on. It would make proving them wrong that much sweeter.

Behind him, a shadow spoke. “Having fun, are we, Jack?”

Jack turned to Pitch with a gleam in his eye. He shouldered his staff. 

“Always,” he said proudly.

The nightmare king smiled. He clasped his hands behind him and leaned out over the curve where the tower’s roof became its walls, casting a glance downwards in an appraising manner. “I must admit,” he scoffed affectionately, “I am a bit disappointed with your timing. Really, you wait until bedtime to kill the lights? You need to give them time to let the fear gestate- let it grow slowly, gnawing at them from within. Leave them hollow when the night falls.”

Jack huffed. “It’s not like sleep will give them any comfort,” he pouted.

Pitch giggled madly, stepping towards the winter spirit. “I suppose you’re right.” He sidled up next to the boy, taking in the view. 

Jack cocked his head up at the dark figure, wrinkling his brow. “What I wanna know,” he ventured, “is what you’ve been up to, mister boogeyman, while I’ve been out here all day long trying to figure out new ways to make frozen water terrifying.” He gave Pitch the smallest kick with his unshod foot. The shadow man giggled again.

“What I do best:” he told him. “Spreading fear. I do have other responsibilities, you know, besides you. As much as I’d like, I can’t hang around all day. I’ve got an entire globe to terrify.”

Jack’s shoulders sank. He turned away from Pitch, staring down again at Burgess’ snow-choked thoroughfares. The nightmare king could feel his distress; he placed a pallid hand on the boy’s shoulder and leaned in towards him. “You’re upset with me,” he stated, matter-of-factly. 

“Yes,” Jack replied. “Well, no-” He sighed heavily. “Maybe.” Uncertainty filled his eyes as he met the boogeyman’s gaze. “It’s just- like you said, you have the entire world to go out and make miserable, and here I am stuck in this little rinky-dink town, scaring the same people with the same blizzard for over a week now.” He threw his legs out in front of him, dropping with a gentle thunk onto the water tower’s icy surface, pulling his knees in close. Once more he turned his eyes out upon Burgess, falling silent.

“Jack…” Pitch started, frowning down at him. Jack remained seated, however, and refused to meet his eye. With one swift, fluid motion he sat himself down beside him, mirroring Jack with his arms wrapped ‘round his legs. There was a softness in his voice as he addressed the young man again. “Jack.”

The winter spirit stole a glance at Pitch out of the corner of his eye; Pitch offered him a tiny grin.

“There is nothing I’d like more,” he assured him, “than to have you by my side as I traverse the entirety of this squirming, wretched planet.” His hand found its way again to Jack’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But we need to test the waters first. You’ve never extended your powers in quite this direction before, and we need to see if you can handle it.”

“I can!” the boy cried. “I absolutely can!” His face twisted into a mask of earnest despair as he turned to the nightmare king. Pitch took note of the state of Jack’s eyes; the ever-shifting forms of his pupils were fluxuating wildly, writhing with inky tendrils across his iris. A knowing smirk graced the shadowy figure’s lips.

“Of course you can,” he agreed, pulling his hand away. “But Jack-“He tapped the side of his nose coyly. “Baby steps.”

Jack sighed and gave a little nod. Pitch was right, of course. He was always right.

For a while they just sat there, listening to the wind roar, letting the unhappiness rising up from the homes below wash over them like waves on the shore. And Jack thought about how perfectly marvelous it all was.

Then, suddenly, there was the steady crunch of tires on snow from beneath them. The pair craned their necks to see the arrival of a boxy white van trudging courageously over a whitewashed road, where the snow had been packed so thick by traffic that motorists opted to simply drive on the snow itself, rather than attempt to plow. Pitch caught sight of a brilliant blue lightning bolt emblazoned on the side of the vehicle.

“Ah,” he mused. “A repair man. Coming out to inspect the damage, I expect. See how quickly they can get the power up and running again.” His brows knit in disgust. “How endearing.”

The frost spirit held up a hand placatingly. “I’ve got it,” he told Pitch. He aimed his staff like a marksman, pulling the bottom up over his shoulder; he looked down the length of the shaft at his target. He spied a smooth patch of snow right in the path of the oncoming front wheel.

“Aaaand… ‘pow’.”

A bolt of icy current shot from the staff, jettisoned towards the spot at an impossible speed. A moment later, the piercing squeal of tires rent the night air, and the fiendish duo watched with delight as the repair van skidded first right, then left, then lost its grip completely, and proceeded to spin wildly off of the road. It didn’t get very far; eventually a nearby streetlamp cut short its ride, with the added bonus of wrapping the front bumper around its steel body. Billows of smoke vomited forth from the wrinkles in the van’s hood; by the time they reached Pitch and Jack’s platform, the pair was doubled over with laughter.

“Oh!” Pitch exclaimed, wiping a tear from his eye. “I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere for a while!” 

“Did you hear that squealing?” Jack returned. “How hard was he breaking?” He erupted into another peal of cackles, holding his sides as though that would stop them hurting.

Pitch let his laughter simmer down to a string of hissing snickers before he spoke again.

“You know,” he chuckled. “It’s funny.”

Jack gasped for breath, a toothy grin pulling at his face. “What is?”

Pitch’s hand went to his mouth; he gently tapped his knuckle against one of his jagged teeth. “I just can’t help but picture where we are now-” He waved his other hand to illustrate their surroundings. “And where we were then.” He turned to Jack. “You caused be quite a bit of trouble, mister Frost,” he playfully reprimanded, nudging the boy’s elbow with his own.

Jack threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I was so young, so naïve,” he joked.

The boogeyman echoed his laugh, his shark’s grin wider than it had ever been.

“You’re still young, Jack! Barely on your third century.” He tousled his ward’s hair affectionately. “Just you wait- there’s a lot more out there than you could ever imagine!”

“You’ll see,” he promised. He turned his gaze skyward, at the limitless velvet darkness where the stars should have been. He smiled to himself, as if dredging up a fond memory from somewhere far back in his mind, a place whose age Jack couldn’t even begin to guess at.

His own secret smile played across his face. “Will you show me some day?” he asked hopefully.

Pitch’s smile widened; he turned to Jack with a tender look in his eye.

“Of course.”

For another long period they sat side by side, contented with themselves and with each other. Aside from the howl of the wind and bullet-like rivets of the hail, only the occasional whiney of the nightmares on their evening errands broke the deathly silence.

After a time, Jack spoke again.

“Y’know-” he started.

“Hn?” Pitch raised a hairless brow.

“I remember way back when- before I knew about any of this-” He waggled a finger at Pitch. “The Guardians, you, any of it- back when I first woke up; I remember walking for so long all alone through the daylight, praying with all of my heart that somebody, somewhere, would notice me.

“I’d always walk a little faster when the sun started to drop, as though I could outpace it. I’d walk, and then I’d jog, and then I’d sprint at full speed towards the horizon; I’d fly as high as I could into the air, trying to grab at those last golden rays before they slunk below the Earth.

“Because I was afraid. Of the darkness.” He clenched his fists tighter around his staff. “Because it meant that I would have to spend another night alone in a world where I had no idea who or what I was. There was nobody to reach for when the darkness came, no friendly ear to just listen when I told them I was afraid.” He shuddered and pulled his limbs in close. And then he relaxed them, turning to smile up at the nightmare king.

“But I was wrong. I see it now- I never had a reason to be afraid; when everything else was gone, when the sun and the stars didn’t shine, the darkness was always there. It held me close and sheltered me from the world I didn’t understand. It embraced me, like a friend.” The young man took a deep, steadying breath, releasing through his nostrils. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”

Pitch’s face sunk in a mixture of empathy and sorrow. He turned away from Jack to gaze once more out over the snowy town. His blinked once or twice as he marshaled his thoughts. 

“Well that’s what they don’t tell you, Jack,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “There’s only one real way to overcome your fears.” His nails dug trenches in his sleeves as he gripped his arms tight. “And that is to become them.”

But he regained his composure once again, and, turning to Jack, reached out a hand and placed it upon the side of the winter sprite’s pale face. His eyes were stern and full of an incomprehensible emotion; something akin to love? To valor? “But I promise you, Jack Frost,” he vowed in earnest, “that you will never have to be afraid ever again.” His eyes softened; he swallowed hard.

“I promise.”

Jack pressed his cheek into Pitch’s palm and closed his eyes. To never be alone again, never fear again- it sounded like a dream, almost too good to be true. But the thought of dreams brought someone to mind. He opened his eyes and raised them to the sky, thinking about the Sandman, and all of his former “friends”. Had they ever really cared about him? Had any of them ever made to him an oath so solemn and heartfelt, ever touched him so gently and meaningfully? No, he’d thought not.

Then, as he scanned the clouds above, he noticed a patch of darkness that seemed different from the rest. It was deeper, purer, somehow. And then he realized- it was the sky! The actual night sky, which had been shielded from his gaze for days on end. A little laugh pushed its way out from between his lips. He’d almost forgotten there was a sky out there to begin with, filled with brilliantly gleaming stars for miles on end, from one horizon to the next. And of course, hanging high above, like a king on an ebony thrown, was…

Jack’s heart stopped; his eyes went wide at the realization.

The moon.

It was there now, peering through that crack in the clouds, luminous, ever watchful; he could feel it watching him, judging him, casting every shameful, hateful look down upon him that it could muster. He leapt to his feet, backing away from the awful thing as far as his perch would allow.

Pitch shot him a worried look. “What’s wrong?” he asked, following Jack’s gaze. Then he caught site of the moon as well.

“Oh, no…” he whispered, brows knit, lips stretched thin; he hadn’t planned for this. Who knows how the boy would react to-

“You lied.”

Pitch whipped his head around to find a very distraught Jack standing over him. His shoulders were shaking, his legs wobbled like a newborn faun’s. His face was strangely blank, with only his bulbous eyes betraying his feelings.

“You said-” he stammered; his lip quivered. “You said that I would never be afraid again.”

Pitch rose to stand, reaching out a hand to the young man. “That’s right, Jack,” he cooed, taking one cautious step forward. A weary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth “After all, what is there to fear when you’re the biggest thing out there?” His fingers brushed Jack’s cheek- and the boy pulled away, face knotting with fury.

“And you lied!” he screamed at the shadow king. He thrust a pale finger at the break in the clouds, at the lunar mass pressing down from on high. “Because we’re not the biggest things out there, are we? He is! He’s bigger, and he’s smarter, and he’s more powerful than we’ll ever be!” His face twisted again, this time into a mask of deepest anguish. “And that terrifies me.”

For a moment, Pitch was at a loss; he had to do something, and quickly, or the boy might do something drastic. Then he had it; he reached his hand out again, his forefinger landing softly on Jack’s temple. “It’ll be alright, Jack,” he told him, keeping his voice level, his face neutral; no reason to alarm the poor thing. “It’ll all be all right in a minute.”

Jack flinched as a bolt pain shot through his skull; Pitch wrapped his fingers around the frost spirit’s face in an attempt to keep him still. Jack wailed in agony, whipping his head to and fro, trying desperately to shake the boogeyman off. Pitch held on, biting his lip in concentration. 

“Just hold on for a moment, Jack!” he pleaded. All he had to do was make a few adjustments with his nightmare sand- if he’d forced the boy to love, to take pleasure in something, then he could certainly make him hate as well. Hate the moon as I do, he thought, and you’ll be too busy to ever fear it again. 

Jack found somehow in his agonized state enough presence of mind to act- a sharp blast of frigid energy found its way from the tip of his staff and into Pitch’s chest, sending the dark figure flying off of the tower into the snow banks below. 

Jack dropped to his knees, cradling his head tenderly as the pain subsided. His mind raced- Pitch had hurt him. No, not Pitch, not the one being in this whole miserable world who understood his pain, who promised him freedom from fear and loneliness forevermore. He couldn’t comprehend it.

“Jack!” He heard the desperate call from below. “Jack!!”

The boy stole a glance over the tower curve and saw a lone shadow climbing his way out of a pillar of white. Pitch dusted the snow from his robe and held his arm up to Jack, like some cast off Romeo reciting a sonnet. “Please,” he begged, “I can fix all this!”

“Fix it!” Jack scoffed. “Fix it how?” He leapt from the water tower and soared to Pitch’s side, staff held menacingly between. “By stabbing me in the brain? Yeah, that sounds real helpful!”

“It’s only to show you that you have nothing to fear!” Pitch shouted, hands curled into rigid talons at his sides. He reached out a hand once more. “Now, let me-”

“No!” the frost spirit bellowed, firing another bolt at the nightmare king. Pitch managed to dodge, however, and twisted his fingers, sending another jolt of agony through his skull. Jack screamed both with anguish and rage and fired again, hitting his mark this time. Pitch went sprawling, but somehow managed to twist the sand in Jack’s head as he did, and Jack fell to the ground, screaming. 

Pitch staggered to his feet and slowly made his way over to the writhing spirit, trying desperately to catch his breath. He stood over the boy and held out a single index finger, deliberately, authoritatively.

“Now,” he commanded, “sit still. This is a delicate procedure.”

He reached for Jack’s scalp once more; Jack could see the cold, twisted digits drawing ever closer to his face, filling his vision, as shadows filled a sunset venue- dauntless, silent, and swift. He’d never been more afraid in his life- or more enraged. He had given his everything for Pitch: his power, his patience, his very heart and soul to a being that he had believed would be his confidant and companion through ages eternal and lands unending. And that same being now loomed above him, not a friend, not a mentor- a master. A master who demanded absolute obedience from his slave, and was more than willing to punish for any slight that slave committed.

Jack Frost was no one’s slave. A bitter fire filled the frost boy’s heart. It was time for an uprising.

Neither Pitch nor Jack knew at first what happened; there was the brutal crack of ice forming, an explosion of snow, and suddenly Pitch was in the air, spinning end over end, arms flailing, eyes wide with shock.

As the pain subsided, Jack scrambled to his feet, scanning his surroundings in search of whatever had just saved his hide. He looked at his feet and saw a jagged pillar of icicles jutting from the ground, pointing in the direction Pitch had flown. He let out a breathy laugh of disbelief, and then took flight, soaring towards the nightmare king’s landing spot. He swung his staff like a batter at home plate, and a flurry of wicked icicles materialized, and made their way strait for the fallen Pitch. The shadow man raised his head in just enough time to see them falling upon him like deadly raindrops. He squirmed and kicked and thrashed, and he was on his feet, the icicles embedded in the ground where he once lay, running as fast as his legs could carry him towards the tree line, kicking up snow in every direction as he went. 

Jack fired again. And again. Pitch was beset by a tidal wave of icy daggers. He swerved, left and right, as Jack continued to pummel him. Eventually, his breath failed him, and he found himself cornered behind a knotty pine, gasping for air, with a cold wind creeping up on him. He couldn’t stop Jack. What could he do? Obviously the dreamsand renovation in Jack’s brain had gone very, very badly. And Pitch didn’t think that Jack would give him another opportunity for a second try; those icicles were very sharp indeed. He heard the flat thunking of another fleet of them hitting the other side of the tree. 

No, he couldn’t stop Jack- but perhaps someone else could.

And just like that, he was gone, bourn away through the nighttime shadows. Jack swooped down only a moment later, a flurry of icicles burrowing themselves into the ground around his feet as he landed. His eyes darted like a wild thing’s, savage and angry; but Pitch had fled. For a moment he simply stood, shaking, consumed with rage beyond compare. Then he let out a terrifying, unearthly scream that rent the night air like a chainsaw, throwing back his head and expelling it heavenward, as if it could take flight and find Pitch for him, and deliver its unholy message in his stead.

But oh!- he knew where Pitch had gone! Of course! There weren’t many places to hide when one was seeking refuge from a supernatural embodiment of winter. So he took to the sky, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, and set a course for Santa Claus’ workshop.

To be continued…


End file.
